tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92180171373109027142018-08-28T05:22:16.710-04:00The ExceptionThe Exceptionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758654167029552230noreply@blogger.comBlogger888125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9218017137310902714.post-81813014666735621192014-02-14T15:05:00.001-05:002014-02-14T15:05:44.065-05:00Valentine's DayThe men in my office outwardly provide editorial commentary about Valentine&#39;s day. Coming from their vastly different experiences, I just smile and remind them that, while they might find it bothersome, it is something fun to a fourteen year old girl. It doesn&#39;t matter that the day is something celebrated in fun in my house or that I have done nothing to encourage the fantasy like quality that the day sometimes embraces; it is simply that I have a fourteen year old daughter. It seems that there is a romantic &quot;fun&quot; that comes in to play on Valentine&#39;s day. I gently focus on the fun and down play the romance and the expectation - then stand back and watch her enjoy it all.
<br>This year she was excited, ready to throw herself into the fun of it. Which she did with gusto.
<br>Then it snowed.
<br>It snowed enough that she has spent the last two days at home.
<br>While we do have fun on Valentine&#39;s day, spending the day with your mom and grandmother just aren&#39;t the same as a day spent with friends and peers adorned with hearts and sparkles and with an abidance of chocolate. Home sadly wilts in comparison.
<br>Taking after her English relatives, she has adopted a &quot;stiff upper lip&quot; with the hope that they will simply postpone the celebration of love until Monday - when, unlike so much of the area, they will be at school, not enjoying a holiday, as there has been just a tad more snow and ice than the schools anticipated.
<br>Tonight she will put on her pink, spend the evening dancing, and fall asleep dreaming of magic.
<br>Isn&#39;t that the way we all want to end a Valentine&#39;s day?The Exceptionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758654167029552230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9218017137310902714.post-43830096150196354952014-01-21T09:57:00.001-05:002014-01-21T09:57:18.814-05:00For Serious?A month ago I was enjoying warm weather and sun. Today I am bundled in coat, sweatshirt, ear muffs, and pretending that the wind is not freezing my face and lungs. The sun and warmth feels so distant; like a memory that may or may not have happened at some point in my life. I shiver and huddle into my coat that much more. The sun is rising a little earlier each day and setting a little later and next month I will return to my window seat to enjoy it. The days of seeing little to no sun will come to an end; everything will adjust once again.
<br>
<br>A woman behind me loudly states, &quot;For serious.&quot;
<br>How my life reflects this idea of late.
<br>
<br> For serious, a month ago I was in shorts and tanks while my daughter swam daily in an outdoor pool.
<br>For serious I am now freezing and giving thanks for every day that doesn&#39;t involve my having to walk in or on ice.
<br>For serious, I spend days working without seeing the sun and then elect to freeze outside just to relish its color and warmth before it dips below the horizon.
<br>For serious, I find the English language one of particulars and refinement and flexibility. A language that can adapt itself to capture and describe just about anything… and yet when it falls short, it it feels like a betrayal
<br> . I am not sure how it is that a living language, continually meeting the demands of an innovative culture, can also be limiting in its ability to deftly
<br> communicate the nuances of emotion or the intricacies of art or beauty. Is it possible that the culture is reducing language to communicate minimally - or to fit on the screens of mobile devices?
<br>For serious I read that the Russian language has many words to describe the color blue that we, in English, call either &quot;dark blue&quot; or &quot;light blue&quot; just as other cultures and languages have several words for &quot;snow&quot; or &quot;love.&quot;
<br>For serious, there are times when I feel like I am living in an episode of &quot;friends.&quot; have you noticed that, while personalities don&#39;t line up exactly, you know a Chandler, A Ross, or a Joey? You might work with Rachel or are friends with Monica? And your life is that much richer with your own Phoebe. Sometimes our own realities aren&#39;t that far removed from this or that television series. &quot;George&quot; of &quot;Seinfeld&quot; fame spent an episode in which he did the exactly opposite of everything he would normally do in regard to women - How often I would like to suggest that people try this. Not to mention, how frequently it seems that our conversations are &quot;Seinfeld-esque in that they are engaging but not really about anything.The Exceptionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758654167029552230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9218017137310902714.post-82066627157235204462013-11-04T17:23:00.001-05:002013-11-04T17:23:31.767-05:00Day Turning to NightI wasn&#39;t ready to fall back an hour to witness the dusk arriving that much sooner and the day turning to night earlier each day. I just was not ready.
<br>ready or not - we have switched to &quot;Standard&quot; time, and I am caught unprepared for the chill the works it way into my body as soon as the sun drops below the horizon.
<br>November arrived with glorious warm weather and a hint of rain. Today I am remembering that it also brings a feeling of sadness that I reach to describe. November seems to be the month of full change from fall to pre-winter. The trees shed their colorful attire, jewel tones leaves quickly drop and fade soon to return to earth - but not before a final dance and twirl with the winds.
<br>November is when I begin to look inward, noting the little moments of gratitude and the lingering taste of lost potential or directions not chosen. This year, I feel pulled into November before I was ready. While I can smile and go through the motions, my thoughts circle and drift like the leaves in the wind. They drift a few more times not yet ready to alight.
<br>November feels unsettled, because I have not yet left October.The Exceptionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758654167029552230noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9218017137310902714.post-52381467915355754082013-10-07T18:47:00.001-04:002013-10-07T18:47:28.541-04:00Unexpected GiftIf someone had asked me what I would be doing during my off time from work a few months ago, I likely would have responded something about hours spent on the computer. Days spent not looking at a computer screen and flipping from data base to data base are foreign to me; and yet, now that I am not at work, I find that I am also not spending much time on my computer. In fact, I have kept to the same &quot;at home&quot; screen time as I enjoyed before which means that I am spending a lot of time doing other things. (This morning that included introducing myself to a long lost friend, the vacuum.)
<br>I am also finding myself thinking more.
<br>That sounds a bit weird as I spend my entire day thinking; I am paid to take information, analyze it, and put ideas on paper with potential implementation in their future.
<br>But I am thinking about things I have not really thought about for years. It is as if my brain is taking it own little vacation. For hours each day I am in a state of limbo. This isn&#39;t to say that I am not doing things and taking care of things that have needed to be done for a while; but, it is to suggest that my mind is free to examine, consider, and feel in ways that have not been possible for quite a while.
<br>Yesterday, as my daughter placed pointe shoes on rickety outdoor stage at a county festival, I found myself wondering and wanting different; asking questions that have no answers or whose answers remain unchanged.
<br>I remind myself and my daughter not to assume an interest or a lack there of, but to be open to let people speak for themselves. Yet yesterday I found myself wondering if things have changed enough…
<br>The reality is that there is a hope inside me that they have. That hope that goes with the idea that all things are possible and that lives somewhere in an old country song that pines for the &quot;good ol&#39; days&quot; and a time and ideals that no longer exist.
<br>I want to offer an olive branch in the hopes that it will be excepted fully realizing that this is more about my open heart over any hint or suggestion proffered that one is welcome or desired.
<br>While my daughter is quick to assume judgement; I look for signs of welcome.
<br>We are each mistaken in these assumptions more than we are correct.
<br>While she is learning to give people a chance
<br>I am working to actually see the facts as they are presented.
<br>While Congress still controls my work schedule professionally, I am finding that I am working. I am cleaning, sorting, examining, and perhaps putting emotions and hopes to rest. I have not lived in denial (nor do I allow my daughter to live there) I have not given myself the space and time to fully come to terms with life as it currently stands; with the roles and the responsibilities; and with with the choices that I have realized are not mine and thus belong to another. The choices that are mine - I am seeing them more clearly.
<br>I would like to go back to work, but I thank Congress for this opportunity to breathe and to allow myself to reflect and re-discover where I am today.
<br>.The Exceptionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758654167029552230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9218017137310902714.post-5352415304653424502013-10-02T18:52:00.001-04:002013-10-02T18:52:17.559-04:00Losing My Sense of HumorTuesday I fled my office, lose strings fluttering behind me as I left. Four hours, regardless of whether you know it is coming or not, is often not enough time to get things tied nicely into bows, especially when the environment is dynamic in nature, as my work is of late.
<br>But leave the office I did.
<br>I left with the full realization that I had no idea when I would return, which is unsettling in its own little way.
<br>This week the DC area is blessed with gorgeous weather. It is the kind of perfect that is leaves those in offices wishing that they could play hooky, ditch the office, and hang out on the links or just be outside.
<br>&quot;Think of it as a vacation&quot; my manager told me.
<br>I am thinking of it as a vacation and not thinking about the reality that I left things undone, that it is a vacation I didn&#39;t want and that has no end, and that while I am fortunate enough to be one that will be paid at some point, there are others who will not be paid or will have to figure out how to go without a paycheck for who knows how long.
<br>I am not thinking about the people who came to the DC area only to find that they are unable to enjoy so much of what this area has to offer as it is closed.
<br>I will not think about the reality that Congress is getting paid while so many upon whom we depend are not. I will work hard not to think about the feeling that I have that we are all just pawns in some political game that has little to do with running the country and taking care of the people and a lot to do with political aspirations and re-election.
<br>Word on the street is that the government could be closed for most of October.
<br>&quot;What are you doing with your time?&quot; a friend asks
<br>&quot;I am pacing myself,&quot; I respond. Because if I do everything in one day, there is the potential of a lot of days of not much to do and the increasing awareness that without work, the paychecks aren&#39;t the same. It is had to spend money when you don&#39;t have insight into where the money will be coming from in a matter of weeks.
<br>My daughter and I were joking around last night as a babbled and chattered at her on our way to ballet, &quot;I should write a letter to Congress: Dear Congress, Please let my mom go back to work. She is driving me crazy!&quot;
<br>It is going to take a little time for me to adjust to being at home, to reworking finances, and to embracing this temporary
<br> way of living. My heart, however, is still at work. I am missing my job and my coworkers and the conversations. My heart is with the people
<br> who are not getting paid; who live paycheck to paycheck not due to over spending but due to high cost of living; and with all those who will be impacted by this act of Congress - and at some point, we will each feel the affect.
<br>For now I will clean my house and read books from the ever growing pile. I will enjoy the silence and maybe do more writing. I will spend more time with my daughter, whether she likes it or not… and I will hope that Congress decides to send us all back to work sooner than later.The Exceptionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758654167029552230noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9218017137310902714.post-61553804189640393512013-09-27T18:00:00.001-04:002013-09-27T18:00:10.812-04:00Shared SHelvesThis summer I started on a mission. I am reading some of the titles that fill my daughter&#39;s teen aged shelves. While this came about as a result of my buying and her reading a book that was likely, just slightly, a bit old for her - and her reading it around friends who thought &quot;wow that looks good&quot; before I realized that it was likely too old for her &quot;sigh&quot;
<br>So now I am reading a sampling of her books.
<br>While I started this venture in order to keep a handle on the materials ingested, I am finding that I am enjoying the books too; and, i am really enjoying our conversations about the shared titles. (I found out after I started that a friend of mine shares books with her sixteen year old daughter too - love it)
<br>I am currently reading/listening to the Georgia Nicholson series on my way home from work. I have now listened to more of them than my daughter has read (They are quite entertaining to hear). THere are times when I find myself laughing out loud, really, at Georgia and her mates. The book is likely British teen aged humor at its finest, though I would be interested to know how well it does in England.
<br>part of what I love about Georgia is that she is a teen aged girl. The group of girls spends time working through just what the lad meant when he said &quot;see you later.&quot; I don&#39;t know that teen aged boys say that in the United States, but I know that teen aged girls and adult women spend time analyzing and re-analyzing what males say and what they &quot;mean&quot; by what they say.
<br>As Georgia works through her relationships and discovers the things she enjoys, what turns her legs to jell-o, and those things she doesn&#39;t like about herself, I remember what it is to be a teen aged girl. I am gaining a bit of insight into my daughter who, despite my looking very closely, is nothing like Georgia. My daughter is a teen aged girl but without a lot of the drama. While we don&#39;t have conversations about her nose or not being able to find anything to wear or boring family trips that pull her away from her mates, we do discuss the growing awareness of boys and girls of one another. She has identified how &quot;not&quot; to treat boys and how difficult it is to talk with one that doesn&#39;t share a class. She is working through the power of eye contact and how uneasy people can be when another looks at them and truly sees them.
<br>I am learning things I didn&#39;t know when I was her age - or maybe I am learning them because I am seeing them through adult eyes and with the advantage of a close relationship with my daughter.
<br>The guys at work warn me about having a teen aged girl, but really, I am enjoying her perspective, her attitude, her maturity and yet her playful nature… I am learning so much from her these days and i love sharing her life.
<br>Okay, I also love sharing her book shelf. Who really knew that young adult fiction could be this good!The Exceptionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758654167029552230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9218017137310902714.post-4150544569375862492013-08-21T09:29:00.001-04:002013-08-21T09:29:39.824-04:00Somewhere in the QuietThere is a quiet to the mountains that I am not sure exists in other locations. While sounds rolls across the desert for miles or silence seems so complete, the mountains are the sounds of nature and wildlife.
<br>While thunder rolls just within reach, I bury myself in a quilt and fall into thoughts accompanied by a cricket symphony with only the pines and the breeze as guest artists.
<br>I note, but do not miss, the sounds of traffic.
<br>Right now, surrounded by life and nature and the sounds of the world without people, I am at a loss as to why we believe that progress is making room for more cars, more lights, and less silence, space, and nature.The Exceptionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758654167029552230noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9218017137310902714.post-18955425990935579842013-08-17T12:04:00.001-04:002013-08-17T12:04:34.441-04:00It Happened on the way Home...As a parent, I find myself consistently coming to terms with my short comings. I am not perfect, no one is, yet I want to hold myself to a standard that just doesn&#39;t exist. While I am the best parent I can possibly be at any given moment, I am not a perfect one.
<br>Which is okay, most of the time.
<br>Most of the time I don&#39;t even consider that I am not perfect at parenting; that I am not a perfect person.
<br>Most of the time I am working to fully appreciate each moment.
<br>Life has a way of throwing challenges in my path at times though that serve to teach me or to remind me that it is really, really okay not to e a perfect parent or a perfect person.
<br>Earlier this week, as I walked home from work, I found myself overcome with the awareness that I am still, after years, taking responsibility for choices that I did not make in regards to my daughter. The emotions came fully to bare as I fought tears and felt completely detached from the physical activity of legs moving forward and feet hitting pavement.
<br>For fourteen years, my life has proven itself to be an exercise in choosing how I will respond; in taking deep breaths and recognizing the opportunities and the choices that present themselves; and seeing that with one choice comes other choices in that we are not locked into anything.
<br>My sorrow, my complete astonishingly powerful emotions centered on my inability to make it different; my inability to provide for my daughter something I know wasn&#39;t possible and only exists in my heart and personal life experience.
<br>My mind knows that my belief system does not apply to my daughter; maybe in those moments my heart recognized this too?
<br>Why here and why now I remember thinking. But as I look back, it is not surprising that my thoughts turned back to a strong belief in what I wanted for my child and how I am still working to come to terms with my lack of power to make that happen.
<br>As tears tingled in my eyes and I struggled to bring my awareness bully back into my physical body and its movements, I kept walking. While I recognize the need to accept, once again, that every one walks a different path; travels a different journey; and experiences a different adventure - I also have to remember that what I felt to be a core gift to my daughter was not a gift in her life in the same sense it was in mine. I have shared all that I gained with her such that my gift is hers with a different spin; but a gift all the same.
<br>In a way, her gift is mine in that we both are asked to find the gifts that come from absence over presence; to find the gift that comes from within each of us and through the choice or perspective.
<br>I am not a perfect parent or a perfect person, but I am continually working to be, and thus to model, a person who is unfolding and evolving on the path less traveled.The Exceptionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758654167029552230noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9218017137310902714.post-8920597751370211232013-07-08T20:21:00.000-04:002013-07-09T18:46:04.930-04:00Am I talking to myself, and not to him?You are loved because you are you - just, you...
<br>That is what I want to say. I want to shout it from the roof or just look at him and ensure that he gets it.
<br>As I write the words to a friend though I wonder, to her and to myself, is it him I am talking to or is it really that reflection of myself? Am i really telling myself that I am lovable because I am who I am - I am just me? Is this something that we all need to realize. We are all lovable as ourselves?
<br>So often I don&#39;t know anymore if I am seeing myself through my personal experience or the reflection that he provides.The Exceptionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758654167029552230noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9218017137310902714.post-91271372677903829062013-07-08T19:32:00.001-04:002013-07-08T19:32:57.421-04:00Does It Have To Make Sense?There is a point at which I hope to learn that really, it doesn&#39;t have to make sense?
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<br>Like today, I wondered, to myself, if it is possible to care for myself by caring for others?
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<br>How esoteric is that?The Exceptionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758654167029552230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9218017137310902714.post-16276740592371985982013-06-22T10:31:00.001-04:002013-06-22T10:31:39.618-04:00Like It's the LastA few years ago, there was a &quot;Reader&#39;s Write&quot; in The Sun Magazine that spoke to our lack of awareness of time - fully savoring each moment of life. I would love to share that with you, but I am currently located on the sidewalk waiting for my daughter to finish her ballet class.
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<br>The point of the essay was to live fully; to appreciate the time we have and flourish in the moment - with others, with ourselves, within nature... revel in the moment because it could really be the last.
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<br>Sometimes my thirteen year old will make a comment about enjoying watching the sunrise or noticing the significance of getting out of the house early and seeing a deer in the park - commenting that this moment is over and there will not be another in that it will not happen again.
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<br>She is thirteen; I am in my early forties and I am learning from her.
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<br>When it comes to my daughter, I do fully flourish in the moment. I take nothing for granted - from the moods of teen aged girl to her laughter, her insights, and her observations. These moments are precious. She will be just this part of thirteen once.
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<br>While I try and live as whole heartedly all the time, I am not always as successful. I get caught up in the world of work, of getting things done, of politics. While I am not busy living in the future; I am not sure that I am fully living in the moment either.
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<br>Of late, this awareness - this recognition of living fully is hitting home - or maybe I should say, it is hitting me at the office. Like most businesses, my office is transient People come and go, rotating out, changing positions, desks, contracts - there is a constant state of movement within our four walls. This is accepted and expected. it is not something that comes as as a surprised. While I have not changed positions yet, it isn&#39;t due to lack of offer but more a desire to absorb all I can for this short period of time. Which sounds somewhat odd given the turmoil that overwhelmed my work environment just a year ago. I stayed then for the professional growth that I knew I needed; I stay now for more personal reasons though the professional experience is still required and desired.
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<br>For the past few days, I have been caught between trying to name the situation in which I find myself thus allowing me to explain it to others - while fully realizing that there are no words; no labels; no means of defining something that is beyond illusive in my own mind. I know only that in this office, right now, I am learning more about myself than I have in a while. One could argue that I could be learning these same things in a different environment or in another job; that it is more about timing and where I am in life.
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<br>I would suggest that I could learn and grow elsewhere, but this learning experience is unique because I am learning about myself from someone who reflects very similar ideas, experiences, and notions as those in my history I am, in a sense, learning from myself.
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<br>That makes no sense and yet it makes perfect sense. i work with someone who echoes me without realizing that it is happening; I get to hear my own thoughts and words thrown back - and wow, if I can&#39;t learn from that? It is an experience that I can&#39;t fully describe and yet it is one that denies price and value. I have six months before we all move again - six months in which I want to savor every moment and each conversation because after six month... it all ends. Knowing that the time shared is finite leaves me aware and fully living in each moment.The Exceptionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758654167029552230noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9218017137310902714.post-64404544056625357262013-04-06T20:39:00.000-04:002013-04-08T17:53:22.863-04:00Relax Your Heart OpenThe words reach through the busy -ness in my head and hit somewhere close to home.
<br>Relax your heart
<br>So easy this is at times and much more challenging at others. I remember reading passages that defined relationships as gifts that come when and where we need them. Some lasting for long periods of time while some are fleeting. Each is with the right person at the right time and brings to each a gift whether that is recognized at the time, after, or not at all. This concept resinated with me then; it resinates with me today. I am open to those who touch my life, prepared to give and take, learn and teach. And, for the most part, II am open to the gifts provided and lessons to teach and learn.
<br>Most of my relationships now are more distant. It is not intentional as much as it is the nature of the relationships at hand or that currently occupy my space.
<br>And then there are those that are more... more connected.
<br>Those that require me to relax my heart and allow the relationship to happen.
<br>No living in the future where I am attempting to live a relationship that doesn&#39;t exist.
<br>Not putting up walls to keep things distant and painless.
<br>I am kept moving, kept busy, kept focused on what lies outside my heart or my insecurities - which is likely what is providing me the space and the ability to relax my heart; to listen to stories of kids; to offer conversation and energy; to sense an awareness that lies beyond what is spoken and to just sit with it.
<br>In an environment that is constantly changing, I am well aware that time is short. I hold that up as a shield sometimes - a means of putting distance between the possibilities and my uncertainties
<br>Without a direct change in assignment, I am kindly reminded, no one is going anywhere. Which, for the two of us remains equally true.
<br>I settle back into the present; relax into my heart; seeing what is and letting go of what has not happened.
<br>It is, just this... which can so easily apply to the experiences that bring us joy as it applies to those moments of stress and pain.
<br>Just this - breathe, relax, and remember that this is the only time I will live this moment... so live it fully.The Exceptionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758654167029552230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9218017137310902714.post-30666100519212305002013-03-28T18:12:00.001-04:002013-03-28T18:12:34.219-04:00Saying Thank YouEver want to reach out, tap someone on the shoulder, and just say... Thank you!
<br>You know, a thank you for being there; for being you.
<br>A thank you for bringing something different into this space; into the space that I share.
<br>You might never know me or my name... but really, I appreciate what you have given and what you bring to this situaiton, to my experience.
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<br>Ever feel that way?
<br>Ever just want to write that note, tap on that shoulder, just say the words... Thanks.
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<br>I wrote that letter years ago to someone who reminded me that there were other men out there after a relationship ended. That relationship wasn&#39;t with him, but he served as the reminder. I have no idea if he ever received the letter, but I wrote it.
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<br>How often do we think about the differences that this or that person makes?
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<br>How often do we recognize it and then how often do we do something about it?
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<br>And how would you respond were you to get that letter? be on the receiving end of that shoulder tap?The Exceptionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758654167029552230noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9218017137310902714.post-41847600566443187522013-03-18T18:26:00.001-04:002013-03-18T18:26:59.094-04:00Tiny DancerWhile the dancers at my daughter&#39;s ballet school completely dislike it, the parents love Observation Day. it is the one day, each semester, when we are invited into the classroom to watch.
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<br>In my house, this day is a mixed blessing. While I love going to watch and my daughter loves having me there, it is difficult for both of us as I struggle to identify which dancer is her and she works to accept the reality of my not being able to really see her in action. Sometimes I am able to find her through gestures; other years I have found her due to size. She usually tries to tell me where to sit and where she will be, but the past few times, she has been moved the day of the observation. For the last few years, this evening has ended in tears - hers and mine - as we work to come to terms with the situation.
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<br>This year she tried to make it work. They thought that they would be in the small studio; she had been moved to the front row; it was all going to work.
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<br>When I arrived, they changed the studio and they changed the line. I again found myself having to be the detective straining my limited vision to determine which dancer shared my heart out of a group of teen aged girls all about the same height, coloring, and weight.
<br>When the class ended, I dreaded having to tell her that I tried to find her but wasn&#39;t sure that I did. But rather than focus on the girl in front of me, who I knew wasn&#39;t her, I focused on the wisp of a dancer in the front corner. I figured I had broken her heart once again. Another year where I would vow not to return to another observation as she wanted someone to &quot;see&quot; her with more than their heart.
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<br>She gave me the biggest hug - That was me!
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<br>She thought I would watch the girl directly in front of me as that girl was easiest to see - so she was surprised that it was the tiny one in the corner that had my attention.
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<br>&quot;Why did you look at me?&quot;
<br>
<br>My daughter has seen herself dance in videos, but I don&#39;t think she understands the energy that draws the eye to her. When I scanned the dancers yesterday, she caught my attention because she looked so much wispier than the rest (She is actually one of the taller girls and has a dancer&#39;s body, through and through so there isn&#39;t much wispiness about her). I was drawn to her energy. i was drawn to her size. It was also that music seemed to, at point be a part of her rather than her dancing to it. For a child who, six months ago, was more &quot;jerky&quot; than not, there was a bit of grace and personal style to her yesterday evening that I had previously not seen.
<br>
<br>I didn&#39;t, at any point, have certainty that she was my daughter. There were moments when I wondered, but I was never sure enough to say, even with any certainty, that is her. Is it possible that my lack of certainty as to it being her made her feel that much better because I &quot;chose&quot; to watch that dancer over the others?
<br>
<br>Several of the dancers wear shirts that state, &quot;If Football were any easier, it would be called Ballet.&quot; Ballet is not a contact sport. It like so many forms of art, is a continual lesson in self confidence and discovery as the dancers move through periods of confidence, insecurity, awareness, and finding a means of performing and expressing themselves. For the past 11 seasons, I have watched students learn to dance. Although I am not able to see the details of the positions, I have a sense of the dancer in a more &quot;whole&quot; way. It is the maturity that comes with time, the natural ability to perform, and the movement from rote repetition of movement to dancing with the infusion of personality.
<br>
<br>Tears once filled my eyes when my daughter took the stage. &quot;That&#39;s my little girl.&quot; Now I sit on pins and needles, energy flowing through my veins. &quot;that dancer with the fast footwork and the huge smile - she&#39;s with me.&quot; &quot;That dancer gaining a reputation as easy to lift and a confident partner... Yes, she&#39;s mine.&quot;
<br>
<br>The dancers i watched yesterday, the wisp in the corner included, have come a long way in the last few months - they have a long way yet to go. My daughter, being the youngest in the class, is like most of the others, she doesn&#39;t know where dancing falls in her future - she is just loving it today. For her, the past few months have been about maturing in technique and in the knowledge of the movements of her body; but, she has also learned to be confident in her peers knowing that she is a student of ballet - a dancer. In a society that loves sending their little girls to wear pink tutus and encourages the idea of the ballerina as grace and beauty, I have always found it interesting that those who study the art often don&#39;t share this part of themselves with many of their peers. That is, however, likely another post! For now, this is about a tiny dancer who is working on her technique and who is delighting those who watch with her energy, her personal touch, and her amazing smile.The Exceptionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758654167029552230noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9218017137310902714.post-85051539812071999732013-03-08T19:34:00.001-05:002013-03-08T19:34:26.953-05:00Don't Dig a Well When You're Dying of ThirstShe giggles
<br>he becomes more animated
<br>I sneeze, and sneeze, and sneeze
<br>While my allergies are getting the best of me, they are aware of only one another and the conversation at hand
<br>My eyes water, nose twitches, and I feel another sneeze preparing itself to come forward
<br>How this moment reflects the entire day - from a beginning with sneezing and light conversation to a point with more sneezing and needing nothing more to remove myself from an office to which I give a lot of energy and creativity and sometimes find myself wondering &quot;why&quot; because I am not sure it is desired or appreciated.
<br>A few weeks ago, I had a saying on my white board that read something like &quot;Don&#39;t dig a well when you are dying of thirst.&quot; One of the guys with whom I work asked if it was the office motto.
<br>I laughed then and now wonder at his wisdom. How often I find myself feeling as if I am banging my head against the wall because I am being asked to dig a well while I am dying of thirst. Today, i found myself realizing that I had tried to dig that well first. I was working to finish the foundations and create a supportive ledge from which people could lower their buckets to drink from the well... and...
<br>then I had a meeting and found myself realizing that no one cares about the well until the final hours of a life.
<br>No one wants to set up the foundation to maintain a healthy supply of water.
<br>People are pretty happy dying of thirst.
<br>I recognize that what I do can be done by someone else. It wouldn&#39;t be done the same way, but the job would be done. I also know that I do it differently than would other people; I go above and beyond the job requirement to fill the gaps, ease the load, and enhance whatever it is I touch. I do these things for the office; I do them for myself because I enjoy what I do.
<br>Yet, there are hours or days when I come face to face with the reality of where I work.
<br>Somewhere, someone likely appreciates what I do and what I have provided; my willingness to dig that well.
<br>It wasn&#39;t today when I sat in a meeting seeing that whatever I said would not matter.
<br>It wasn&#39;t earlier this morning when I realized that the person with whom I work this project was not fully engaged in listening to the update.
<br>It wasn&#39;t when I sat at my desk those last few minutes of the day recognizing that, regardless of all I have done, I am not allowed to be noted for that work because it is beyond my job description. Hierarchy rules the day in some places.
<br>I am frustrated
<br>I am sad
<br>I want to stop the value added that I give and tell people to do their own jobs, I am done.
<br>But of course, this is not the case. I can not pretend the work isn&#39;t there just as I can not refrain myself from filling gaps and adding that extra &quot;touch&quot; to my work and my environment. I have created my space and cultivated it with attention and care. I will dig the well, though no one is dying of thirst, because that is the person that I have chosen to be - and the person I continue to choose to be. I will even plant flowers and trees around my well so that people can relax when they come to drink; so that they can take a deep breath and appreciate the beauty that surrounds them.
<br>I work with many people who would die of thirst while digging a well.
<br>I also work with a few people who will help me dig that well so that none of us die of thirst. They share my frustrations. They too know what it is to come face to face with the reality of a lack of strategy.
<br>Together we laugh, we dirty our hands, we dig, and we keep working to build; to develop; to grow.The Exceptionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758654167029552230noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9218017137310902714.post-35291319868025147602013-01-28T10:43:00.000-05:002013-01-28T11:27:35.329-05:00BrillianceBlue skies have shifted to gray.
<br>Where yesterday there were sun filled smiles; today crystal tears fall. Ice that would glisten like diamonds were there just a hint of light to highlight their brilliance and intricacies.
<br>Considering that last thought, contemplating the crystals that continue to fall outside, I wonder if there is more to it? Were the sun shining; were street lights hitting the ice as it fell, would we perhaps note and clammer over the site. We would be able to see the beauty.
<br>Without that source of light, without something to highlight the individual brilliance...
<br>Light or not, the intricacies and the nuances of the ice rain doesn&#39;t change; what changes is our ability to see. Perhaps what changes is that our attention is drawn to those aspects under the light?
<br>How much are each of us like those crystalized drops of water?
<br>Each of us has a brilliance and intricacies that are beautiful to behold; however, how often are those aspects of ourselves noticed? Does it take a source of light to draw the attention of ourselves or others?
<br>There are times when I have served as the light that shines upon another to highlight their brilliance. As a parent, as a friend, as a person in a relationship of any sort - it feels only natural to turn on the high beams and focus. I served as the operator of the spotlight. I would guess that most people have served this role. Once our attention is drawn to the brilliance of another, we like to share that find with others.
<br>It is, perhaps, more challenging to serve as our own source of light; to recognize our own brilliance and intricacies on any given day, especially those where the clouds block the sun, excluding all external sources of light.The Exceptionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758654167029552230noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9218017137310902714.post-62841273969639985822013-01-18T18:46:00.001-05:002013-01-18T18:46:21.085-05:00Wanting "Nothing"I sit at my desk, the sun still hiding somewhere beneath the horizon. Exhausted, completely exhausted.
<br>The day stretches before me as I fight sleep; many things require my attention, items that will ask my morning mind to give way to wakeful thought sooner than not.
<br>I remember days in which I lived more in the future than in the moment. Days in which I planned days, weeks, or months into the future. The plans were never in great detail but I was not unfamiliar with the idea of considering anything possible &quot;after&quot; or &quot;once&quot; this or that happened. Living a life waiting an event that has yet to happen was not the norm; however, it felt familiar and comfortable.
<br>Gazing out the windows this morning, I once again realized how unfamiliar that all seems now.
<br>Today I found myself working to organize thoughts; taking one breath and doing one thing at a time. I have learned that, although I can answer questions and address issues as they arise, to fully accomplish the writing tasks, I have to do just one at a time.
<br>I gave myself time to wake. I did some laughing and some chatting.
<br>Then I settled in to do each written task, giving each my full attention.
<br>I have learned that today is just this - and to get things done, I have to do &quot;just this&quot; and then think about &quot;that.&quot;
<br>The sun rose into a gorgeous blue sky.
<br>Colleagues came by to chat and laugh.
<br>I requested help i the writing of a draft.
<br>I stood up, walked, settled my thoughts.
<br>When the day came to an end, a colleague wished me a good weekend. Not for the first time, I had to stop and consider the days and hours that lay before me.
<br>The weekend?
<br>Tonight?
<br>Other than our scheduled commitments, what stretches before me is... nothing and everything.
<br>My daughter is known to say, with genuine sincerity, I want nothing because I have everything.
<br>It is these days, these Friday afternoons, when I realize that there is not work tomorrow, it is then when I look at nothing and feel myself relax, smile, and see beauty in a way that I did not know five years ago.
<br>Nothing is lovely.
<br>Nothing is opportunity, possibility, and space.
<br>It is Friday evening; I sit writing this recognizing that now, despite a few bumps in the road, I want nothing because I have everything.The Exceptionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758654167029552230noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9218017137310902714.post-84199424148782723532013-01-11T19:06:00.001-05:002013-01-11T19:06:25.200-05:00Right NowThe night has closed around me.
<br>Another work week ended; one that has proven quite emotionally challenging, which is something I can&#39;t often say in regards to my professional life. But then I don&#39;t often open a document and find myself wanting to just shut the PC down and walk out of the building either. This reaction, not a result of work or politics, but the product of the battle within myself as I struggle between compassionate empathy and the recognition that I am attempting to do my work and the work of another as a result of that compassionate empathy. Capable as I might be, it is a challenge to walk behind the elephants, cleaning up the mess before the President sees it or worse, steps in it.
<br>That isn&#39;t a great analogy though it reflects my feelings at the moment.
<br>I am frustrated, torn, tired, and having to take one day at at time as there doesn&#39;t seem to be any change on the horizon. Good thing i am comfortable living in today!
<br>I watched the sky darken just beyond my windows this afternoon.
<br>I shot e-mail throughout the building and ventured through the office taking care of what I could; attempting to manage a situation that requires attentive responses over bursts of reactions.
<br>I feel as if I am walking on eggshells at times; watching over my shoulder as the wrong word, a demonstration of concern with the incorrect tone, anything could have an unexpected impact.
<br>It is all drama; it is not my drama, and yet maintaining a distance that allows me to stay sane proves difficult when it involves work.
<br>The night closes, rain drops no longer falling though lights sparkle and glisten from their remains.
<br>Right now, there is no work, no drama, no means of working.
<br>Right now, I have the space to breathe and just, be.The Exceptionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758654167029552230noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9218017137310902714.post-43867881844745639072012-12-21T09:30:00.000-05:002012-12-21T09:30:03.821-05:00The Sweet Side of Roles Reversed<span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"> I remember the days when my daughter would speak of the bitter side of aging; of moving from single digits to the double variety; leaving ayear she loved to enter the unknown; being one year older and one year less a child.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;">It appears in this, as in many others of late, our roles have reversed. &nbsp;It is me that notes the bitter side of the sweetness of her age; her being that much closer to no longer being a little girl; her no longer needing me in the same way she once did.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;">Our roles have evolved throughout her life. &nbsp;I cherished being pregnant and having her protected, with me, all the time.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;">Her infant and toddler years in which it was all a mystery and an experience - the challenge of determining what it was she needed and wanted and ensuring that I gave her the room to fly all while keeping her safe.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;">Her "kid" years with friends, teachers, and venturing that much farther from the nest but still needing to know exactly where I was in the audience or when I would be home from an evening out with friends.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;">And now, now she is more independent than not</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;">She is still a kid, but not</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;">She no longer needs to know where I sit or the exact time of my return, just the assurance that I am there.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;">She no longer looks to my eyes to find tear shaped love on my cheeks.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;">She does not note the bitter side of the end of a year or the changing of her age. &nbsp;She embraces it all. &nbsp;My butterfly is consistently working to strengthen her wings and explore new situations and her place within them.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;">Our roles are reversing. &nbsp;I am learning to be a different kind of mom, the mom that she needs now, and I move to find new ways to engage and share her life.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;">When the curtain closed on two weeks and six performances, it was me who worked to find the balance and experienced the sadness of seeing her take that last bow after a dance she not only performed but executed with delight and passion. &nbsp;While she casually talked with friends and sat down to finish her home work, I retreated to find comfort in this new reality with this new daughter and the different relationship.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;">Only days later did I learn that she too, for just a moment, recognized the end of the show and the sorrow of not dancing the part again. &nbsp;For her, it was quickly replaced with the joy of having entertained and done her best. &nbsp;That smile that rivaled the spotlight in which she stood - pure, exonerated joy.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;">How can I not be filled with love for that daughter and every form of her before and that will come?</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;">This then is for her, for changing relationships, for children and parents learning more about themselves and ways to share their lives.<br />Here's to a beautiful butterfly who is nearly ready to fly, and a mamma who is thrilled to share in her life.</span>The Exceptionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758654167029552230noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9218017137310902714.post-83345760585456344312012-12-17T17:31:00.001-05:002012-12-17T17:56:05.308-05:00Safety, An Illusion<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"When will you be back?" </span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"At 4." </span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I called at 4. I called just after 4. she wasn't there. Although I didn't worry; I did feel unsettled. I knew where she was really, right? I knew she wasn't alone. I knew a friend was near by which was actually the unexpected change that had me trying to reach her at home.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was the friend that called and explained that she was now waiting and where my daughter was; It wasn't until later that I talked with my child, who was completely unaware of why Friday I might have been feeling a little more parently aware than on any other day. She was out having fun and had no means of knowing the time.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I loved being pregnant because I could keep her with me at all times. I felt like I was keeping her safe. An illusion, I know, but I had a greater degree of perceived control pregnant than I feel I have now.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I tell new parents to prepare themselves as they will now spend each day, for the rest of their lives, learning to let go; learning to let their kids travel their own paths.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">At some point, parents all learn to do that. We do it at different times and in different ways. </span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">As an "on my own parent" I had to learn to relinquish some control immediately.&nbsp; I learned to consider parenting as a part of the team that would care for my daughter. Other team members change as she grows - </span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">from daycare to teachers to coaches, we are a team giving her what she needs and each is responsible for her safety..</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I really never consider that her safety was in question. Friday afternoon, I heard about the situation in CT and felt a pang, not only for those children and their parents, but for all of us who send our kids into the world believing that they are safe. They are kids, of course, they are safe. They are at school where things can </span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">hurt, but they are safe from...</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The shootings in CT have left a sour taste in my mouth and a hurt in my heart. I have never understood crimes against children of any sort; while I have studied other aspects of criminal behavior, I can't claim to fully understand it either. It is one thing to have motives, but to understand why an action is taken?</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">While I sat at work reading my computer screen, I wondered if the school was talking to the students and talking about how best to protect themselves in that situation.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I recognize that the next few weeks and months will have specialists and politicians considering and vying for different solutions or "fixes" to shooting incidents. I find myself wondering as to the social or systemic roots; the thought process that fixes on choosing to engage in such violence. What can we do to identify that process and minimize its happening?</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Many people will find answers and propose legislation; but, will we be considering bandages or long term strategies to find and eliminate the root causes?</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I, as of now, have no ideas. I feel numb; I feel the need to be aware of where my child is while still realizing that this awareness does not keep her safe. I feel, as many likely do, more aware of my helplessness..</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I am reminded of the illusion of being able to protect my daughter when I was pregnant. There are many things I can do to give my daughter knowledge and choice; to ensure that she understands integrity and accountability; I can foster her ability to live passionately and to live with awareness of her surroundings. I can give her the information she needs to be safe - as safe as possible.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And I can continually love her - every day, I can do that.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Every moment of every day...</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I can do that.</span></span>The Exceptionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758654167029552230noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9218017137310902714.post-69416719490637814902012-12-13T18:15:00.001-05:002012-12-13T18:15:58.280-05:00The Curse of the NutcrackerSince my daughter was two, we have participated in one annual holiday tradition - her dancing in the Nutcracker and my running around like a crazy person trying to help and support and work.
<br>Every year the show ends with exhausted dancers, proud parents, and sniffles.
<br>This year proved to be no different, except that after over two weeks of intense rehearsals and performances, it was me with the sniffle. Me who went to work with watering nose and eyes and people just wondering why I had ventured in when I could have stayed at home.
<br>Other than the dripping and blowing and body racking sneezing... I felt totally fine
<br>That was yesterday; today I am soooo much better. (Not that anyone noticed mind you)
<br>Yesterday I learned that my dancer is one of the few who survived the three weeks of Nutcracker madness with only thirty-six hours of cold. Parents and dancers alike are feeling the pain of long nights, hectic days, and stress coupled with excitement. There is nothing quite like being the parent of a dancer during Nutcracker season. It is one of those times when you truly realize that you only &quot;thought&quot; ballet ran your life before; during the Nutcracker, you realize just to what extent it actually does!
<br>For weeks to come, we will gather at Starbucks and discuss the performances, the season unfolding, and scratch our heads in bewilderment as to just how we got ourselves into this and wonder if there is an exist strategy (which there isn&#39;t). We will talk about the money that we are investing the solid training for dancers who have a less than X% chance of being professional ballet dancers - and most of them aspire to careers that have little to do with the stage anyway.
<br>And we wonder why we are doing this?
<br>Why we endure the long nights, the lack of social lives, and the hours of volunteering.
<br>Why we give our vacations, our new cars, and house remodeling to tomorrow so that there can be hours of ballet training today.
<br>It would be wonderful to be able to say that it is because we are all great believers in the arts. That we recognize the value of ballet and see it as a gift to the world and an art form that requires investment and preservation.
<br>While I do believe these things, I don&#39;t consider those reasons for the time and investment that is given to the ballet school my daughter attends. Ballet gives her amazing gifts and has introduced her to experiences few other activities offer. I could easily state that I maintain her training for these experiences; but, I don&#39;t think that would be accurate either.
<br>It takes only moments for each of us to remember why we invest as we do; why we continue to give despite all of our comments and grumbling.
<br>A few moments watching our dancers perform... that is all it takes.
<br>I can&#39;t speak for all of the ballet parents whose children attend this school, but for my ballet clique... it it is all a function of seeing your child doing something that they love.
<br>What other reason do I need?
<br>So I will blow my nose, sneeze a lot, and attempt to be as germ free as possible at work. I will put of that trip to Europe and remind myself that the kitchen really is enough. I will do that and give more of myself to see the dancers reveling in the realization of hard work and following their hearts.The Exceptionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758654167029552230noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9218017137310902714.post-50221129110158330652012-12-07T18:05:00.001-05:002012-12-07T18:05:34.525-05:00Just Not Feeling ItIt is difficult for me to get my mind around the date. It is 7 December. That&#39;s right, 7 December.
<br>I peer along the dates of the calendar looking to find those free hours in which I will do my shopping for the holidays.
<br>I come up blank. The schedule doesn&#39;t permit any mall times which leaves me with my best friend, the internet. I consider the options with the full realization that successful internet shopping in a limited time window requires having some idea of what one is seeking.
<br>Again, I draw a blank. I have gone from a person that does Christmas shopping throughout the year and embraces the challenge of finding something thoughtful for everyone to, well, where I am now. There is no energy to my shopping; no ideas come flitting into my mind suggesting that they are the choice for this friend or that nephew.
<br>Time escapes me and I find myself thinking that for some on my list, purchasing a gift is a waste of money.
<br>I do not like that feeling at all.
<br>I feel like the grinch. I have no desire to steel Christmas, I am just not sure that I am fully into the idea of participating this year.
<br>Three weeks and it is over; three weeks and a new year will be on the horizon. I don&#39;t like looking to the future to find energy or optimism, but I don&#39;t like the lack of inspiration I am currently experiencing and i am not sure as to the solution.
<br>There are few free moments between now and Christmas, and when the come, we will be operating on someone else&#39;s time.
<br>I consider the stockings, the gifts that aren&#39;t bought and thus aren&#39;t shipped.
<br>I look at some of the people around me and wonder just how it is that they get it all done and where they find the energy and the inspiration.
<br>Close my eyes, count to ten, take a few deep breaths and focus. It will happen; I will create the time to make it happen.
<br>(But if anyone has gift ideas for kids... I am all ears)The Exceptionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758654167029552230noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9218017137310902714.post-70039725961171651582012-11-16T18:51:00.001-05:002012-11-16T18:51:46.179-05:00What Day is it Anyway?I jumped out of bed on Thursday and suddenly remembered &quot;It&#39;s Thursday!&quot; Which wasn&#39;t welcome news as I woke from a dream I wanted to continue thinking it was, thankfully, Friday... and it wasn&#39;t. It was Thursday. And it was dark. And did I mention cold? But the point, it was Thursday in a week that seemed to be lasting twice as long as normal.
<br>Thursday.
<br>Although I quickly adjusted to the idea &quot;Working 9 to 5&quot; running through my head as I showered, the week seemed to move at a snail&#39;s pace from that point forward.
<br>Friday morning wasn&#39;t much different. Although the sound of classical music didn&#39;t disrupt a dream I was trying to finish, it did result in everything scattered from the side table and a few grumbles from me as i worked to cease the music and move from the bed thinking... &quot;Last day of the week. It is truly Friday!&quot;
<br>I would love to find explanation as to why this week has lasted so long.
<br>Is it SADD? I have experienced that for years and it is entering that phase of the calendar year... chocolate, pasta, not so balanced life ... all possible players in the next two months. But I don&#39;t think that is it.
<br>It could be that I am not used to working a full week at the moment. We went from Sandy to a short week due to school, to Veteran&#39;sDay, and now to Thanksgiving... my next full week isn&#39;t until November draws to a close... and that will be quite a week!
<br>It could be work... Um, definitely a possibility. While the actual work to be done is slow (which doesn&#39;t help) the issues to support the team are never easily controlled - which has me considering two other options while not sure that I actually want to leave where I am. It is hard to leave work you enjoy due to the lack of support and the mismanagement of the back end. Okay, there is mismanagement and no strategy on all sides, but the work is interesting.
<br>Reality - it is what it is.
<br>I often don&#39;t know what day of the week it is.
<br>My life bounces between my job and my daughter&#39;s ballet schedule to the point that I often feel both encroaching on my space. I have learned to find &quot;me time&quot; in sleep, which I don&#39;t get much of most of the time anyway.
<br>Just a few more weeks and there is a ballet break.
<br>A few more weeks and I have two weeks off (kind of) work.
<br>A few more weeks and I will know if I am staying where I am or leaving.
<br>But then again, I might not have to wait that long as the solar flairs are to hit on the 13th and the Calendar ends on the 21st!
<br>And if either of those things end the world, there is so much I have not done; so much I want to do....
<br>Like figure out just what today is!The Exceptionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758654167029552230noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9218017137310902714.post-66891882718691485082012-11-05T17:36:00.001-05:002012-11-05T17:36:38.636-05:00CricketsAt work, when we have not received answers or information or when a question is asked and seems to drift off into a black hole, we say &quot;Crickets.&quot; Perhaps they say it other places too and I am just behind the times, but the office is the only place where I have heard this term used; and, it is used a lot.
<br>Right now I hear crickets.
<br>I want answers; I write e-mail; I send words out to friends around the world... I want someone to just offer an explanation of some sort...
<br>And, &quot;crickets&quot;
<br>I scroll through the e-mail
<br>&quot;Crickets&quot;
<br>I send notes trying to find someone who will offer some sort of answer. And maybe there is someone who has &quot;an&quot; answer but my questions are so weighty and numerous now that they, like me, are at a loss.
<br>Yesterday I received quite a nice gash on an eye brow while engaged in an intense and emotional conversation at work. Two hours and stitches later, I was at home trying to relax out of shock (shaking) and working my way through not thinking about all that is happening.
<br>While today the people with whom I work continued to show both support and concern, my own management team, well aware of the situation... &quot;crickets.&quot;
<br>The irony, I love the sound of crickets. They are a welcome form of nature&#39;s music when the seasons change. When I was younger, summer nights were about sleeping with the windows open and not hearing traffic - just crickets. (And the occasional mosquito because what is a summer without that buzzing.)
<br>I recognize that there are not answers to all of my questions. Fully aware that I will not have an answer to why this little boy died, I don&#39;t ask the question, though I feel the loss. I recognize that my management team is torn between trying to live in two very different worlds and has not yet figured out that the commitment can not be made to both; so I don&#39;t ask too many questions, but I note the environment that is created. (Even the barista at Starbucks asked about my injury... *sigh* and yet, from my manager, &quot;Crickets?&quot;)
<br>I remind myself that there aren&#39;t always answers. That my friends are happy to read and listen, but they don&#39;t have the answers. They can only offer support of their own and hear me out. The silence leaves me sad over angry. Sad for the inaction; the lack of awareness of the results of inaction and noncommitments.
<br>It seems that our inability to focus beyond ourselves creates challenges that are both unwanted and unnecessary. One of the men at work is upset because he was not invited to the funeral services for my friends child. He is management; they are not friends; but he wanted to be there and felt he had something to offer. Drama now circles through the office attempting to pull those of us who were friends into its vortex.
<br>My injury will serve as a reminder that I need to be more aware of my surroundings; that I need to remember to breathe; and the importance of finding a number of ways to work through and process events as they arise.
<br>Most of what is happening right now, I can&#39;t control. My friend, who lost her son, is scrambling about seeking answers, focus, reason, purpose, and anything to fill her time and that hole she doesn&#39;t want to admit exists in her everyday. To her, I give my support; and from me she likely wants answers she knows I don&#39;t have and can&#39;t give so maybe she, like me, is dealing with a lot of &quot;crickets.&quot;The Exceptionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758654167029552230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9218017137310902714.post-65618598024203199192012-10-31T17:49:00.001-04:002012-10-31T17:49:33.954-04:00A Perfect StormI sit, in the dark, entranced by the sound of the rain and the movement of the tree that dances erratically just feet beyond my window.
<br>It is dusk; just fifty miles of this metro area, Sandy is coming ashore as I type. We have spent the day focused upon not being outside and enjoying the electricity: laundry, dishwashing, cooking, maximizing our computer time. Although we rarely lose power in my neighborhood, I am not going to risk it this time as this storm is not the normal winter storm or summer rain, it is &quot;Frankenstorm.&quot;
<br>The cats and I cuddle into blankets listening to the reports coming from storm inflected areas. The loss of a peer in MD, the loss of the board walk in NJ, and a popular Md summer spot is gone - this all before the storm came ashore.
<br>Schools closed, offices closed, governments closed, the area is locked tightly inside riding out an event they predict we won&#39;t forget.
<br>The rain throws water, it contact with the window sounding more like handfuls of small pebbles over drops of water.
<br>The tree is now a dancing shadow; its leaves cling to violently moving limbs.
<br>&quot;Why is it always so beautiful before something happens?&quot; My daughter asked this weekend at the conclusion of a series of gorgeous fall days. It is as if we are given a gift of blue skies and mild temperatures; a reminder of what is possible. But is that then to suggest that what I observe right now is not beautiful? As it is just that, beautiful in a very different way than the days that we define as &quot;perfect.&quot;
<br>***
<br>The storm didn&#39;t impact our area to the degree anticipated. As so often happens in the past few years, we &quot;dodged a bullet.&quot; But the damage to NJ and NY is striking. While life returned to normal today; it will take weeks if not months for the NJ/NY area to recover, and it won&#39;t be as it was.The Exceptionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758654167029552230noreply@blogger.com3